


More Than Tolerable

by second_chances



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, all the Jane Austen tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6109621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_chances/pseuds/second_chances
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Rey Kenobi was, at nineteen, in possession of good friends, good looks, and good humor, but little in the way of accomplishments or fortune to recommend her to suitors, a reality that bothered her far less than the fact that she'd barely set foot outside Yorkshire since she was a small girl. So when Lady Leia invited her to accompany her to Bath for the season, she could scarcely contain her delight at the prospect. Less delightful, however, was the unexpected arrival of Lord Ben Solo, heir presumptive to the Skywalker earldom, estranged son, infamous profligate, and annoyingly determined to make her acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Blame this on Alan Dean Foster for writing novelization!Kylo Ren like he's straight out of a Regency romance novel.

**_Bath, Somerset_  **

**_November 1810_  **

“Miss Kenobi!” 

The slightly raised voice caught Rey’s attention, as did the flurry of footsteps behind her, and she loosened her grip on Finn’s elbow to turn and greet her friend. 

Miss Jessika Pava was pink-cheeked and a little windblown, as if she’d been walking rather more quickly than was proper for a lady, and right down Milsom Street, no less. Rey grinned at the sight, for this was exactly the sort of friend she’d always wanted. They hadn’t been acquainted long—only the fortnight since Rey had arrived in town—but they’d become fast friends, already addressing each other by their Christian names within a day of meeting. That is, when they weren’t shouting it on a public street. 

When she reached them, Jessika dipped her chin towards Finn with a smile. “Mr. Galfridian,” she said, then looped her hand through Rey’s free arm, and they set off again, walking three abreast on the pavement. 

“I was in the shop looking at bonnets with Mama when I saw you pass by,” Jessika explained. “Are you on your way to the Pump Room?” 

Finn let out a small, amused breath next to her, and Rey shot him a warning look. He was well aware of her opinion on that particular staple of Bath society—a place where people went for no other reason than because they were bored and could think of nothing else to do, where they could idly walk or sit about, gossiping and trying to make the acquaintance of their social superiors, passing the hours until the evening came and there were actual things to do. Rey far preferred to take a walk out of doors, or even sit at home reading in the company of Finn and Lady Leia. She enjoyed Bath, but there were parts of it which being raised in the countryside made her ill-suited for. 

“No, we were just on our way to post a letter to Lord Skywalker,” Rey said. 

“Miss Kenobi likes to avoid the Pump Room if she can help it,” Finn added, a mischievous note in his voice. “Although I for one wouldn’t mind accompanying you there.” 

Rey had to remind herself she was on a public street, or she would have elbowed him sharply in the side. 

Jessika laughed merrily. “I’ve no wish to bore Miss Kenobi. I’m perfectly content joining you on your walk. I only wanted to see if….” She paused and leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “…you’ve heard the news.” 

For all her professed disdain of gossip, Rey couldn’t help the little flutter of curiosity that ran through her. Perhaps Bath was growing on her after all. “What news is that?” she asked, trying for an air of nonchalance so she wouldn’t give Finn another excuse to laugh at her. 

Jessika’s smile turned arch and knowing. “Ah, so you haven’t.” She glanced over her shoulder at Rey's maid, who was walking several paces behind them, then lowered her voice even further. “I thought perhaps Lady Leia….” She hesitated, no longer smiling. 

Rey’s brow furrowed with concern, but before she could say anything Finn asked sharply, “What does it have to do with her ladyship?” 

“It’s Lord Solo. By all accounts he arrived in town this morning and intends to stay for quite some time.” 

Rey frowned. It seemed unlikely that Lady Leia’s estranged son would show up in Bath when it was common knowledge that she was there for the season. A meeting between them could hardly be avoided under the circumstances. “Are you _sure_ it was him?” 

“Oh, yes. Mama had it from Mrs. Elliot, who saw him ride right past her in the street. She’s seen him in London before. She’d recognize him anywhere. _And_ he was with a rather large group of gentlemen who've all taken lodgings in our street.” 

Rey and Finn came to a halt on the pavement, glancing at each other uneasily. Jessika’s eyes darted between them, a dismayed expression on her face. “I’m so sorry, I thought you would want to know—” 

Rey smiled at her warmly and squeezed her arm. “There’s no need for apologies, Jessika, I’m glad you told us. It will be better for Lady Leia to know than run into him unawares.” 

Jessika nodded, her features easing back into her usual cheery expression. “I’d best return to Mama. You’ll be in the Upper Rooms this evening?” 

“Yes, of course. We shall find you no matter how crowded it is,” Rey promised. 

Once Jessika had left them, they crossed the busy street to the post office, Rey lifting her skirts and stepping carefully to avoid the messes left behind by the horses. The letter was safely on its way and they were setting off towards home before they spoke of it again. 

“What do you suppose he can mean by it?” Rey asked, quietly enough that her maid could not overhear. “He’s always so careful to avoid their social circles.” 

Finn’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Nothing good, I’d wager. I’d not be surprised if he intentionally picked a time when Admiral Solo was away in London.” 

“You think he wants a reconciliation? After all these years?” It seemed doubtful to her. 

Finn lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “What Lord Solo wants is the biggest mystery in the empire.” 

Perhaps it was—as mysterious as whatever falling-out he’d had with his parents and his uncle ten years before. They never spoke of it, and rarely of him, so Rey’s knowledge of the subject was limited in the extreme. It had all happened before Lord Skywalker became her guardian, before her grandfather died and she went to live at Castle Skywalker. Finn had already been his ward at the time, but she could get no information from him on the subject, either. He had no knowledge of the particulars, being only a boy when it had all happened. 

What she did know of Lord Ben Solo was that his estrangement had no effect on his inheritance. Lord Skywalker was the Earl of Carlisle, and he had no children. As his wards, Finn and Rey only stood to inherit whatever sums of money he deemed right to leave them. His title, his estate, his various properties, and the bulk of his fortune would all go to his nephew. Rey had always harbored a secret bitterness towards Lord Solo, though she had never met the man—mostly for the pain he still caused his family, whose welfare and feelings were of utmost importance to Rey. How could they not be, when they’d taken her in, treated her well and loved her, poor orphan though she was? And she could sometimes admit to herself, in her darker moments, that there was a sliver of selfishness in the bitterness too, for when Lord Skywalker died, she and Finn would be summarily turned out of their home by the prodigal Lord Solo, who didn’t deserve any of it as far as she was concerned. 

Upon arriving home, Rey went directly to the sitting room to deliver the news to Lady Leia, heavy though her heart was at the task. Her ladyship was sitting at her writing desk, absorbed in her various correspondence, and Rey paused a moment in the door to study her. She was a small woman, with streaks of grey now cutting through her dark hair, but she was still the height of elegance, possessed with the sort of grace and presence that made everyone in the room stand still. She was made of the stuff Rey thought queens should be made of. And it seemed most the world agreed with her on that point—it had been the collective scandal and tragedy of the country when she’d married far below her station some thirty years before, to a mere captain of the Royal Navy. He was an admiral now, sat in Parliament and was excessively wealthy besides, but all that paled in the general public’s opinion of who the daughter of an earl had the right to marry. 

Rey admired her for that perhaps most of all. To marry for love regardless of station was not something one encountered frequently amongst the aristocracy. 

Leia must have sensed Rey's eyes on her, for she set down her pen and turned her head to bestow a warm smile on her. "How was your walk, Rey?" 

Rey felt that familiar two-fold ache in her heart at the sight—the longing for the mother she'd never known and the gratitude that this kind, extraordinary woman tried to make up for that loss at every turn. "Refreshing," Rey said, moving into the room to perch on the settee. She yanked off her gloves and set them with her reticule on the side table as Leia moved to sit across from her. 

"What is it, Rey?" she asked, brow furrowed with concern. She was so perceptive, it was sometimes unnerving. 

Rey heaved a sigh, brushing a stray lock of hair off her forehead. "I'm afraid I have some...unpleasant news." She was hesitant to deliver it, but at the same time did not wish to leave her ladyship fearing the worst regarding her husband or her brother, both of whom she loved dearly. Rey blurted out the words before she could contemplate them overlong. "Your son arrived in town this morning." 

For a long moment, Leia sat very still, expression frozen on her face. Then she blinked, pain and a deep, unutterable grief flashing through her eyes, and sat up straighter in her seat. Rey shifted down the settee without thinking, gathering up Leia's hands in hers and squeezing them gently, trying to funnel all the comfort she could into the touch. 

Lady Leia let out a small, shaky breath. "I haven't laid eyes on him in at least five years." 

Rey knew this, and that it'd been even longer since they'd actually spoken, but she did not reply, unsure what to say. 

A lengthy moment of silence stretched by, then Leia brushed a hand to the corner of her eye, smoothed her skirts, and resumed her usual brisk tone. "Well, then. I suppose a meeting cannot be avoided. I only wish it would not be in public, where every gossip in the country will be there to witness it." 

"Perhaps," Rey ventured, "he'll call on you here?" 

Leia smiled sadly. "I very much doubt that." 

Anger flared in Rey's chest again, hot and focused on that unworthy creature who was responsible for putting that heartbreaking expression on his mother's face. She pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak until she could get a proper rein on her temper—a difficult thing even at the best of times, when Lord Solo wasn't involved. 

"How will you manage it?" she asked at last. 

"With civility. The Assembly Rooms are unbearably crowded this time of year. Perhaps our meeting will go mostly unnoticed." It seemed Lady Leia suddenly caught the expression on Rey's face, and she had not been as successful at hiding her emotions as she'd supposed. Leia smiled and extricated a hand to bring it to her cheek in a sweetly maternal gesture. "Do not waste your anger on him, dear Rey. Heaven knows he is more deserving of your pity. I love my son dearly. He isolates himself. If he would only seek a reconciliation, we would welcome him home with open arms." 

Rey smiled wryly, her anger not abating in the least. "I'm afraid you're a better person than I, my lady. I cannot fathom what would possess a person to squander the love of such a family. It seems...unforgivable to me." She couldn't hide the small tremble in her voice. There was nothing she would not do to have everything he'd callously thrown away, to recall her parents and her grandfather from the grave. 

Her ladyship seemed to sense her thoughts once more. "I know it cannot bring your family back, but I hope you know you are as dear to me as if you were my own daughter." 

Rey's eyes filled with grateful tears, and she dipped her head down in a vain effort to hide them. Lady Leia did not comment on them, merely patted her knee affectionately and offered her a handkerchief, which Rey accepted with a rather unladylike sniffle. 

"What would possess a person," her ladyship murmured, echoing Rey's earlier words, and she snapped her head up, wondering if one of the secrets of the Skywalker family was about to be unveiled to her. "The blame lies mostly with Lord Snoke." 

"The Duke of Norfolk?" Rey was confused as to what he could have to do with anything. She knew that he was Lord Skywalker's bitter political enemy, that they opposed each other on every point, and that the Duke had the king's ear in the most poisonous way, a fact which the Earl lamented to his wards on a near daily basis. 

"He has a habit of insinuating himself amongst the sons and heirs of the aristocracy when they're young and foolish and impressionable. He all but forms their opinions, driving wedges between them and their families, ensuring they're loyal to him alone. That is why the king is in his thrall." Her voice grew soft and sad. "And it's what he did to Ben." 

Rey had rarely heard his Christian name pass her ladyship's lips, and her heart seized up a little at the sound, so much love and regret in that single syllable. 

"The Admiral and I bear a share of the blame as well, I fear. We should never have sent him away to school. That was when we lost him." 

Rey shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with how eager Lady Leia seemed to be to place the blame on anyone but Lord Solo. Perhaps now was not the proper time to express her opinion on the matter, but her ladyship looked so miserable she couldn't stop the words from slipping out of her mouth. "Forgive me, but surely your son made some of his own choices as well? And continues to make them." 

Leia smiled sadly. "Indeed he does," she said, rising to her feet and leaning down to place an affectionate kiss on Rey's forehead. "You are very wise, little one. Now, enough about my family tragedies. Have you decided what you're wearing tonight?" 

Rey wrinkled her nose up, considering. "My sprigged muslin, I suppose." 

"Best choose wisely. I hear Mr. Dameron will be there," Lady Leia said, a hint of mischief in her voice. 

Rey was mortified to feel her cheeks go hot at the mere mention of his name. Her mouth opened and closed before she could properly collect herself to say, "I'm not—that is, I've no idea what he has to do with it." 

"Haven't you?" Lady Leia said, amused, and before Rey could come up with a reply she'd swept regally out of the room. 

Rey huffed out a breath and slouched back on the settee, allowing her thoughts to wander to Mr. Poe Dameron—a far more pleasant subject of contemplation than Lord Solo. He was a barrister from London, son of the Skywalkers' longtime family friend, with the brightest and most frequent smile Rey had ever seen. He was exceedingly kind, good-humored, and so handsome it often took her breath away. She'd once spent the better part of an idle hour just contemplating the perfect dark curl that always fell forward onto his forehead. Half the ladies in Bath were in love with him and he was at least ten years her senior, so she had few hopes on that front. Still, she could not help holding him up in her mind as a shining example of all that a man should be, were she to ever marry. 

In the end, she settled on a white embroidered muslin, with a sheer, filmy outer layer that made her feel as if she was wearing a cloud. Her maid wove a string of pearls that had once belonged to her mother into her elaborately curled, upswept hair, and Rey sat studying herself in the mirror, frowning at the many freckles which had made an appearance on her nose from excessive time spent out of doors. Were she back home in Yorkshire, she wouldn't care in the least, but in fashionable society she was determined to be a credit to Lord Skywalker and Lady Leia. It certainly had nothing to do with Mr. Dameron's beautiful dark eyes, or the haughty scrutiny with which Lord Solo would undoubtedly regard her were she forced to make his acquaintance. Nothing at all. 

Unbidden, thoughts of his portrait sprang to her mind. She'd seen it often enough, hanging in the gallery at Castle Skywalker, to recall it with perfect clarity. She'd spent more time than she'd care to admit studying it as a young girl, endlessly fascinated by the mysterious yet ordinary-looking young man. He'd been younger than she was now when he sat for it, no more than eighteen years of age. She could see something of his mother in his brow and dark eyes, and shades of his father in his nose and full lips, but the saturnine countenance was all his own. She'd once even tried to reproduce it in her own painting—in the time before her governess had despaired of ever making an artist of her—but she'd given it up in frustration, foiled by the soft way his black hair fell about his overlarge ears. Worst of all, she'd had the oddest sensation he was sneering down at her efforts, the intensity of his eyes combined with the mocking half-smile that hovered at the corner of his mouth producing the effect, only noticeable when one spent too much time staring at it. Eventually, she'd crumpled up her painting and thrown it squarely at his nose, as if his face was a personal affront to her. 

And now she was to encounter the original. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach, mostly for Lady Leia, but also for herself and Finn. She had no idea what Lord Solo's feelings were towards his uncle's wards, but it was not an unreasonable assumption on Rey's part that he held them in contempt. They had, after all, stepped into the void he'd left behind, living in his family homes, claiming the affection that had once been his. 

_Let him feel it_ , she told herself scornfully, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. _And reflect it back to him tenfold. It's he who's deserving of contempt_. 

They arrived in the Upper Rooms at precisely six o'clock but the place was already full to bursting. Once they entered the ballroom, Rey stood on her tiptoes in a vain attempt to catch sight of her friend. Her height made it easy to see over most the ladies' heads, but there were more than enough gentlemen in the room blocking her view. "How will we ever find Miss Pava in this crowd?" she all but shouted in Finn's ear. 

"Just let me find a seat for Lady Leia and I'll go look for her," he promised. 

Lady Leia insinuated herself between them. "Never you mind me. I'm not so old that I can't stand on my feet for a few hours until tea." 

With that, she shooed Finn on his way, and Rey stood next to her ladyship by the wall, adjusting her gloves and trying not to fidget. Lady Leia, by contrast, was the picture of cool serenity, nearly a head shorter than Rey and somehow larger than life in her resplendent blue silk dress. Rey edged closer to ask, as softly she could in the noisy room, "Do you see him?" She kept her eyes on Leia's face, searching for any sign of anxiety or discomfort, hoping to allay it. 

"I do not." 

"Perhaps he won't be in attendance tonight," Rey offered, tugging at her gloves once more. She was brimming with some sort of strange, nervous energy. A dance would cure it, no doubt. 

Lady Leia caught her eye, frowning when she noticed how fixedly Rey was staring at her. "I positively forbid you from spending all night worrying about me. No, don't deny it. If we meet, we meet, and there's no sense working my nerves up about it." She took Rey's gloved hand, pressing it in both of hers. " _You,_ my dear, are young and pretty and must spend the evening dancing." Rey opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Leia's eyes drifted over her shoulder and a smile spread across her face. "Mr. Galfridian has found your friend, and another." 

Rey turned to see Finn squeezing through the crowd on his way back to them, Jessika close behind him. And just behind her—Mr. Dameron. 

Jessika was a picture in pink muslin, all smiles and bright-eyed excitement. She stepped forward to loop her arm through Rey's. "I'd despaired of ever finding you. Mr. Dameron had just offered to help me look when Mr. Galfridian found us and quite swept us both away." Her eyes lingered on Finn, rather an unusual thing for a lady who was also standing in Mr. Dameron's presence, and a suspicion was quickly starting to grow in Rey's mind, but it was interrupted by the barrister himself, who stepped forward to kiss Lady Leia's hand when she held it out for him. 

"Your ladyship, you grace the assembly with your presence." Coming from anyone else, the words might ring false, but from him there was nothing but charm and sincerity. He worshipped the ground Lady Leia walked on, from what Rey could tell, having known her since he was a small boy. 

"Mr. Dameron," Leia said fondly. "Are you in a dancing mood this evening?" 

"Always, my lady," he said, smiling broadly and turning to kiss Rey's hand as well before she knew what was happening. Her mouth dropped open a little and she felt her cheeks grow hot, infinitely relieved that she could blame the reaction on the warmth of the room. 

"Miss Kenobi," he said, bringing his head up. His dark eyes were warm and that one perfect curl had fallen onto his forehead again. "May I claim the two next? I fear Mr. Galfridian and Miss Pava have abandoned us to our own devices." 

"Nonsense," Jessika laughed beside her. "We're to dance a cotillion and you're to join us, of course." 

By this point, Rey had recovered her voice enough to say, "Yes, of course. Gladly." She offered Mr. Dameron an eager smile and received a blindingly bright one in return. She had no time to focus on the spot of warmth his lips had left on her glove, because he was offering his hand to lead her to the dance floor. She placed it in his without hesitation, although she spared a glance over her shoulder at Lady Leia, who smiled and nodded. 

Rey enjoyed herself immensely. Mr. Dameron was a splendid dancer and an excellent conversationalist. Rey eagerly questioned him on the finer points of his law practice, and he seemed unsurprised that she would take an interest in it. For his part, he asked after the activities she enjoyed at home in Yorkshire, and he didn't eye her strangely as other gentlemen in Bath had when she spoke of horseback riding and shooting and other pursuits that were rather less genteel than sewing and drawing. Lord Skywalker was indulgent, and Rey was grateful for it. Mr. Dameron seemed rather unorthodox on these points as well, which was doing nothing to sway Rey from the lofty opinions she held of him. 

The only trouble of partnering Mr. Dameron in two dances was that Rey found an uncomfortable amount of eyes on them, as they always were on him. Rey tried not to flush under the scrutiny, glad that she was at least passably skilled enough at the dance steps not to disgrace herself or him. She was almost glad, then, to switch with Jessika once the two were over and dance with Finn instead. 

Periodically throughout the dances, she searched out Lady Leia where she'd left her standing near one of the fireplaces, now talking with a group of friends, now standing by herself for several minutes. There was still no sign of Lord Solo, as far as Rey could tell. 

She looked back at Finn, feeling his eyes on her face as they worked through the steps. "You're worried for her," he said. 

"So are you." 

"At least we'll be able to spot him the minute he steps in the room. The man's a giant." 

Rey laughed, a bit out of breath from the dance. "Don't be ridiculous." 

"I'm not—" he protested, but the steps of the dance carried them away from each other for a while and when they came back together, they were rather too breathless to speak. 

The dance ended, and Rey pressed a hand to her side. "I think I had better return to Lady Leia for a while." 

Jessika accompanied her, and Finn and Mr. Dameron left to fetch them all drinks. Lady Leia was occupied in speaking to Mrs. Pava and another friend, so Rey and Jessika stood near them catching their breath and remarking on the other people in the room. 

"How long they're taking with our drinks!" Jessika exclaimed after a while, fanning herself. 

"Perhaps they've deserted us to play cards," Rey said archly. 

She expected Jessika to laugh, but instead she said, "I wonder if he's in the card room." 

"Who?" 

"Lord Solo, of course. He's a notorious gambler." 

Rey shot a nervous glance at Lady Leia, who was too absorbed in conversation to hear them. Against her better judgment, perhaps, she stepped a little closer to Jessika and lowered her voice, burning with curiosity. "Is he really?" 

Jessika eyed her askance. "Really, Rey, do you not know anything about him? How is that possible?" 

"They rarely speak of him," Rey protested. "And they're hardly going to share...unsubstantiated rumors about him." 

Jessika looked a little offended. "Well, if you'd rather not hear the _unsubstantiated rumors_ , let's speak of something else. Where did you get your dress? I've been meaning to ask all night." 

Rey told her, then hesitated only a moment before adding penitently, "I would like to hear the rumors." 

Jessika raised an eyebrow, but indulged her. It appeared he was indeed a gambler, but rather more successful at it than a number of other young men, so therefore less inclined to racking up outrageous debts. "He's been in an _indecent_ number of duels. Everyone says he has a terrible temper, and will fly off at the smallest insult. He refuses to come to terms with anyone beforehand, so it always comes down to a fight." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He's killed two of them." 

Rey's eyes widened. It was an unusual thing to demand satisfaction so often, even more unusual for it to come to pistol shots in the end, and actually killing someone in the course of a duel was _technically_ murder in the eyes of the law. It was overlooked, however, when someone in the peerage was doing the killing. Rey's stomach turned in disgust. Small wonder his family frowned upon his activities. 

She wet her lips, half-ashamed of her morbid curiosity. "Is he—" she hesitated, a flush creeping onto her cheeks, then blurted out in a whisper, "a libertine?" 

Jessika blushed too, looking scandalized and waving her fan in front of her face again. For a moment, Rey regretted her question, but then Jessika snapped her fan to a standstill in front of her mouth and spoke again. "No, nothing of that sort. He's not even a flirt, as far as I've heard, not even with eligible ladies. And he's nine-and-twenty, one would think he'd be considering marriage soon." 

"Perhaps he's too busy killing men in duels," Rey remarked scornfully. 

They were prevented from further reflection on the topic by the arrival of the two men with their drinks in hand. Rey accepted her punch from Mr. Dameron with gratitude, as he cheerily recounted how an enthusiastic dancer had nearly danced their way straight into his arm as he passed by, and it was a near thing to him spilling punch all over the both of them. Rey smiled and cast her eyes over the room again. It really was extraordinarily crowded; it was a wonder there was even space enough for the dancers. 

The song came to an end, and there was a brief lull in the music. Rey was feeling inclined to dance again and beginning to harbor a hope someone would ask her when Finn seized her by the elbow. She turned to him, startled. "It's him," he said grimly, nodding towards the main door. 

Rey's eyes flew to the door, where she only managed to catch sight of a group of gentlemen entering the room before—despite her curiosity—her gaze swerved to Lady Leia instead, and she moved quickly to her side. Her ladyship had spotted her son as well, and Rey gripped her arm just in time to support her as she swayed on her feet, the movement so fleeting that no one else noticed it. A heartbeat later, and Lady Leia was still and regal as a statue again, reaching over to pat Rey's hand in a gesture that was both gratitude and an indication to let go. Rey did, but would not move from her side. 

Satisfied that she was offering Leia all the support she could give her, she finally allowed her eyes to stray back in the direction of the door, where a good portion of the occupants of the room who weren't dancing were gazing as well. The group of gentlemen cut a striking figure, six or seven of them in front, various sons of lords and baronets, Rey supposed. Behind them was a red-haired gentleman with a tall, beautiful woman on his arm. And behind them, standing at least half a head taller than most the people around him—Lord Solo. 

Though she'd never seen him in person, Rey would recognize him anywhere. She'd expected he would look vastly different from his portrait, over a decade old as it was, but he did not. There was the large nose, the soft line of his jaw, the full mouth, the black hair, longer than it used to be, falling to the line of his cravat. And—most jarringly—the familiar morose expression. That anything about him should be _familiar_ to her struck her with fresh strangeness, and she lowered her gaze, afraid the very familiarity of it would draw his attention. 

The room was neither still nor quiet, and the dance kept on, though for Rey and even more for Lady Leia, no doubt, everything had gone silent and breathless for a moment. They did not speak, and every second that passed seemed like an eternity, before Rey raised her eyes to search him out again. He'd moved farther into the room with his friends and was engaged in conversation with the red-haired one, who seemed to have a perpetual expression on his face like he was sucking on a particularly sour lemon. Rey began to wonder if Lord Solo actually _would_ acknowledge his mother—perhaps he would spend the evening pretending he did not see her, a prospect even more mortifying for her ladyship than a public reunion. 

Rey's gaze turned into a glare before she could help it. If it would not violate ten different rules of propriety and embarrass Lady Leia besides, she'd have the inclination to march straight over to him and tell him what she thought of his behavior. She was just so _angry_ that he would treat his mother so ill. 

He raised his head, then turned it, and suddenly—for one short, terrible moment—his eyes met Rey's across the room, as if the heat of her anger had drawn them. His eyebrows twitched upwards, then his gaze moved down to Rey's side. He'd seen his mother. 

He turned away, back to his party, and another wave of anger swept through Rey's chest. She turned to Lady Leia to offer what comfort she could. 

"Oh heavens," her ladyship breathed. "He's coming this way." 

Rey's eyes snapped back to him, and sure enough, he was shouldering his way through the crowd towards them, and it was the least subtle way he could possibly be doing this. Well, that was to be expected. Lord Solo was not known for his subtlety. 

Before long, he was standing before them, all broad shoulders and intimidating height and intense dark eyes focused on his mother. A moment of brittle silence stretched between them, several different emotions Rey could not put a name to passing over Lady Leia's face before she held her hand out to him. "Ben," she said, so much love in that single word that Rey felt tears pricking at her eyes. 

"Mother," he said stiffly, his voice deep and solemn. But he took her hand in his, and even bent down to kiss it, hair falling forward in soft dark waves as he did so. Rey watched the peculiar scene as if from afar, unable to reconcile that a ten-year estrangement could end so simply. Or perhaps not so simply. When he straightened, his mother's expression was all wonder and quiet love, while his remained guarded. Only a small quiver of his lower lip betrayed the emotions roiling below the surface. 

Even at a moment like this, they were all slaves to etiquette. Lady Leia gestured to her left. "You remember Mr. Galfridian and Mr. Dameron." Lord Solo aimed a slight, stiff bow in their direction, though his haughty gaze lingered on Finn. "And this is my young friend Miss Pava." Jessika, remarkably self-possessed for being suddenly confronted with the person she'd been gossiping about mere moments before, sank into a graceful curtsy. "And this," Leia gestured to Rey, who was still standing just at her right elbow, "is Miss Kenobi, your uncle's other ward." 

The intensity of his gaze was all at once focused entirely on her, and Rey stuck out her chin a little as she dipped into the most shallow curtsy etiquette would allow, giving him her deference very begrudgingly. She raised her head as she straightened, and their eyes met for a second time. There was that mocking half-curl to his lips, that slight eyebrow raise, and she had the strangest sensation he could feel the antipathy she felt towards him rolling off her in waves. 

He turned back to his mother to enquire after how long she had been in Bath, how long she intended to stay, how she was finding it. The most inconsequential of topics for a son who had not spoken to his mother in ten years. Lady Leia answered them all graciously, posing gentle, unobtrusive questions of her own in return. Rey watched the exchange, a little aghast at how dispassionate the conversation was. Lord Solo did not broach the topic of visiting his mother at home, nor did her ladyship extend the invitation, no doubt in fear it would be rebuffed. They did, however, establish that they were attending the same concert the following evening before Lord Solo excused himself to rejoin his friends. 

Lady Leia let out a long, low breath as she watched him walk away. "He looks just the same," she said softly, and it was only then that Rey noticed the unshed tears in her eyes. 

"My lady, do you wish to leave, or sit down, or...." Rey trailed off, at a loss for how to help. 

"No. No, I'll be fine. Just—" Her ladyship squeezed Rey's hand in hers again. "Stay with me for a moment." 

"Of course." Rey exchanged a look with Finn over Lady Leia's head, imploring him with her eyes to secure them a bit of privacy. He caught her meaning at once, leading the others back to the dance. 

Rey stayed with Lady Leia watching the country dances until it was time to retire to the tea room for refreshments. Her ladyship had recovered her spirits enough to enjoy the company of her friends again, leaving Rey free to sit next to Jessika, who recounted with good humor her last dance with a clumsy militia captain. 

"He tread on my hem no less than five times in the course of the dance. At one point I was certain he'd ripped it." 

Rey sipped at her tea, nodding absently. 

"Rey?" Jessika wrinkled her brow. "You seem very preoccupied." 

Rey set her cup down and smiled at her friend. "I'm sorry, I fear I'm poor company this evening." 

"You were perfect company until Lord Solo arrived." 

Rey stifled a grimace and said nothing, for she could hardly deny it. 

Jessika leaned forward. "Did you notice...." She hesitated, then pressed her lips together, as though she'd thought better of what she was about to say. 

"Notice what?" 

"He seemed to...look at you rather more than anyone else." 

"What?" Rey spluttered, equal parts skeptical and horrified. "That's ridiculous, we didn't even speak." 

"Not when you were introduced. I noticed later, while I was dancing. And just a while ago, when we were leaving the ballroom." 

"He was looking at his mother," Rey said firmly. 

"If that's what you wish to believe," Jessika sniffed, a bit of pique in her tone. "I know what I saw." They sipped their tea in silence for a moment, but it was obvious the topic was still forefront in her mind. "What if he asks you to dance?" 

Rey's mouth opened and closed, taken aback at that unanticipated hypothetical. "He won't." He hadn't danced with anyone since he'd arrived at the Upper Rooms, a piece of information Rey did not vocalize for fear it would bring up the point that she had also been watching _him_. 

"Yes, but what if he _did_?" Her friend was relentless. 

Rey huffed. "I would not dance with that man for half of Yorkshire." 

Jessika clearly found her vehemence amusing, for she pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. "I'm glad to hear it." 

"In any case, I doubt I will be dancing again tonight. I've already danced two with Mr. Dameron, and any more might look like a preference." She found her eyes straying across the room to the object of her affection, who was engaged in animated conversation with a group of ladies and gentlemen. "It's difficult to reconcile myself to dancing with anyone else after dancing with _him_." 

Beside her, Jessika gave a wistful sigh. "The sentiment of every unwed lady in this room, I'm afraid." 

They spent the next several minutes sighing into their tea over Mr. Dameron's various perfections, then it was time to return to the ballroom, where they quickly discovered the aforementioned gentleman had abandoned them for the card room with Finn. To occupy themselves, they stood near Lady Leia and her friends and watched the dancing commence again. 

Lord Solo's sour-faced red-haired friend was dancing with the elegant lady he'd arrived with. Rey watched them perform the intricate steps flawlessly, and she would have been jealous of their skill were it not for how utterly _bored_ they both looked. Rey did not understand the point of dancing if one didn't derive any enjoyment out of it. Unwillingly, she found her eyes wandering to Lord Solo, who was standing near one of the fireplaces with several of his gentlemen friends. He had not gone in to cards, which seemed odd for a supposed gambler. Nor was he dancing, so Rey could not quite fathom why he'd even bothered coming to the Assembly Rooms that evening. 

She returned her attention to the dance, hiding a yawn behind her gloved hand. Standing still was making her tired, and there were at least two more dances before they could leave. She turned to Jessika, intending to propose they walk the length of the room, crowded as it was. She was just itching to _move_.  

Jessika's eyes, however, were fixed on something that was not the dance. Rey followed the line of her gaze to see it was Lord Solo, in the midst of shouldering his way through the press of people, not twenty feet away and headed straight towards them, by all appearances. 

"He's coming this way," Jessika whispered. 

"Surely not," was Rey's rejoinder, despite the evidence of her own eyes right before her. 

"He _is_." They turned towards each other quickly to appear as though they'd been engaging in deep conversation and not following his progress across the room. 

"Miss Kenobi." There was his voice, unmistakable to her already even after such a short acquaintance. Reluctantly, she turned to face him. The first thing that met her eyes was his starched white cravat. Heavens, he was just so _tall._ She lifted her chin to meet his gaze, arching a questioning eyebrow. "My lord," she said stiffly, the first words she'd ever spoken to him. 

"I wonder if I might have the honor of claiming you for the two next," he said, and while the words were polite, his tone was presumptuous, as though she'd already given him a positive answer. 

Rey's mouth dropped open slightly, scrambling for any reason to refuse him. "I had not—that is, I'm—" 

His eyebrows knit together, watching her in bemusement as she stuttered her way through half-formed excuses. No doubt he was unused to being refused, which made her all the more determined to do so. However, she could tell they'd drawn the gazes of at least a few dozen people nearby, and Rey cast an anxious glance to the side to see that Lady Leia was watching them as well. 

There was nothing for it, though every muscle in her face rebelled when she forced a halfhearted smile. "I thank you, yes."            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole Finn's last name from [the EU character](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Finn_Galfridian), but rest assured he's very much the TFA Finn we all know and love.
> 
> I'm playing VERY fast and loose with title etiquette to minimize confusion (Luke should be called Lord Carlisle, for example) and because I'm all about scandalizing the peerage and their ridiculous rules.
> 
> Fun(?) historical notes:
> 
> English country dances could easily take 45 minutes each, depending on how many couples were in the set. There are obviously a lot here, so Rey's just consigned herself to spending at least the next hour and a half dancing with Ben.
> 
> [Rey's dress.](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5dlw5-0JMrE/TZ0Z-06tgFI/AAAAAAAAWEo/lySChhYLt2M/s1600/1800+kent+state+composite+gown.JPG)
> 
> Castle Skywalker is actually [Castle Howard](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_Howard), the ancestral seat of the Howard family, the real-life Earls of Carlisle. The [Long Gallery](http://s0.geograph.org.uk/geophotos/03/48/86/3488676_1fe7f4b3.jpg) is where Rey sat trying to copy Ben's portrait.
> 
> The [Pump Room](https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2008/10/06/the-pump-rooms-little-known-and-well-known-facts/), which was located next to the Roman Baths (both of which are still in existence today), was a large room where the upper class would get dressed up just to walk around all morning and afternoon. They'd drink the hot mineral spring water, listen to the orchestra, and sign their names in the Subscription Book, which let everyone know who was in Bath at the time. Jane Austen seemed to take a dim view of it (judging by how she describes it in Northanger Abbey), which Rey shares here.
> 
> [The Upper Assembly Rooms.](http://austenonly.com/2013/02/19/attending-a-ball-at-an-assembly-room-georgian-assembly-rooms-part-two/)
> 
> [The rules of pistol dueling.](http://www.geriwalton.com/index.php/2014/08/pistol-dueling-its-etiquette-and-rules/) And yes, Ben has indeed killed two men this way, unusual as it was at the time.
> 
> [My Reylo sideblog is here.](http://greyjedireylo.tumblr.com/) This is actually a side AO3 account too because I'm terrified of losing friends if they find out I ship Reylo. I know that's really sad, I should ship whatever I want publicly, etc., but I just don't want to deal with the vitriol. So ANYWAY, comments/love/new Reylo friends would be very much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Rey stood in mortified silence for a long moment after giving her answer, trying to reconcile herself to the bizarre sequence of events that had transpired to coerce her into spending the rest of the evening in Lord Solo's dubious company. 

The man himself was watching her carefully, with an air of rather less self-assurance than he'd possessed seconds before her hesitant acceptance. Rey made a concerted effort to keep her countenance free of emotion, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had any effect whatsoever on her composure. 

She could not fathom what his possible motive would be in asking her to dance. She was so intimately connected to his estranged family that spending any amount of time in her company could not help but bring up topics he would surely prefer to avoid. Or perhaps that was exactly why—he wanted to collect information about his parents without taking the trouble to speak to them.  

Whatever his reasoning, the fact remained that she was essentially a nobody in a room of far more eligible ladies, and as a consequence there were an uncomfortably large number of eyes on them already. Rey had half a mind to inform him that she was a very indifferent dancer in the vain hope he might change his mind, but the current dance had already concluded and he was holding out a hand to lead her to the floor. 

"Shall we?" he prompted when she did not place her hand in his immediately. 

Casting one last helpless glance at Jessika, who looked far too smug about this turn of events, Rey lifted her gloved hand and placed it in his, as gingerly as if it was a scalding iron. They made their way through the press of people together, Lord Solo walking a little ahead to clear a path for her, the crowd parting like water around him. They were approaching the edge of the dance floor before Rey noticed how empty it was and balked, coming to a sudden halt. The resultant tug on his upturned hand had Lord Solo shooting a questioning look at her over his shoulder. 

Rey's eyes darted between his face and the dance floor, feeling like nothing so much as a trapped animal desperate to escape. 

He took a step closer to her, the expression on his face somewhere between concern and bafflement. "Is something the matter, Miss Kenobi?" His tone was low, near a whisper, so intimate it bordered on the inappropriate. Rey blinked up at him, opening and closing her mouth without speaking, hesitant to expose a weakness. 

But every second that passed accomplished nothing other than delaying the inevitable. "It is only," she said, all in a rush, "I had not anticipated we'd be leading the set." 

In truth, she'd never done such a thing in her life. She was a passable dancer, by no means an excellent one, and leading off the dance required that they choose the steps and progress a good part of the way down the set before the other couples joined them in dancing. It was a position of honor he was no doubt accustomed to, but altogether too much attention for Rey's taste. 

His lips twitched up, barely noticeable, into what passed for a smirk on that brooding face. "Why would we not," he said, all arrogance and not a question at all. 

Rey frowned, but there was nothing for it, so she allowed him to lead her forward again. They took their place at the top of the set, facing each other as more couples joined them in line, so many that Rey realized with a sinking feeling the first dance alone might take the better part of an hour. The musicians in the gallery struck up the opening notes of the next song, and Lord Solo murmured his chosen steps to Rey in something that was once again phrased as a question but spoken as a command. Annoyance flared in her chest once again at his presumption, but she merely bit her tongue and nodded, reasoning that perhaps quiet acquiescence could carry her through these two dances without creating a scene. 

There was no opportunity to speak for some time, for the steps were lively and it took quite a while to work their way down the set. Once they reached the bottom, Rey turned her attention towards the other dancers, but she could feel Lord Solo's gaze fixed on her. The steady intensity of it was unnerving to say the least. No doubt he was busy searching for things to find fault with. 

At last, she turned to him, reasoning that perhaps it would be best to engage in some inconsequential conversation if it would stop his silent staring. "How many couples there are tonight!" she exclaimed, at a loss for any other safe subject. 

"No more than usual," was his dry response. "The Upper Rooms are always crowded this time of year." 

"So you've been to Bath before?" 

"Several times. This is your first, I think?" 

"It is," Rey said lightly, determined to ignore the possible reasons why he would know or suspect that. Undoubtedly he found her country manners wanting in refinement, but she did not care what he thought of her. 

"And London?" 

"I've only been once," she said, bristling at the condescension in his tone. "I've little cause to go there." 

"That sounds like my uncle speaking." 

"On the contrary, it is me speaking," she countered, perhaps a bit too sharply, for he frowned. "I prefer the quiet of the countryside." 

"Have you never considered that might be because you have such little experience of the city?" he asked, mouth tipping back up into that insufferable shadow of a smirk. 

Rey tried not to gape at him. He was purposely provoking her! She could not imagine why he'd asked her to dance for the express purpose of exchanging insults, but she decided her best course of action was not to indulge him, so she said nothing. 

Silence stretched between them for several uncomfortable moments. "I've offended you," he said at last, voice deep and not the least bit penitent. 

"Not at all. I do not take offense easily." An outright lie, but a necessary one to maintain her tentative grasp on serenity. 

"My uncle has by all appearances become a hermit these past few years, when Parliament is not in session. I'd supposed that was his doing. Perhaps I was wrong." He paused, like he was waiting for her to say something. 

Rey told herself not to respond, but words were slipping out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Are you implying I have something to do with it?" 

"Only that you have an influence on him." He seemed to be probing for answers to questions he was not asking. Rey shifted under the scrutiny. What business was it of his to pry into his uncle's personal relationships when he'd given up his own with him so completely? 

"Lord Skywalker listens to my opinions, if that's what you mean," Rey said tartly. 

"And Mr. Galfridian's?" 

"Yes, of course. We  _are_  his wards, and he's fond of us." She glanced up to meet his gaze again with reluctance, and found something she hadn't thought to see there—suspicion, if she wasn't mistaken. Suddenly, all the pieces of his line of questioning fell into place in her mind. Rey wasn't so sheltered that she'd never heard the rumors before—a good part of the country thought Finn was Lord Skywalker's natural son. Rey afforded those rumors the proper scorn they deserved. If he was, Finn had no idea of the truth, and Lord Skywalker was not the type to keep such a secret from a loved one. It would be cruel indeed to let Finn think he was an orphan if his father was in reality living under the same roof, and Rey was certain their guardian was incapable of such cruelty. 

Now it was Rey's turn to openly study Lord Solo's face, sudden understanding of at least one of his murky motivations unfolding clearly before her. Behind the mask of arrogant indifference was no small measure of insecurity, and she was only left to wonder why she'd never guessed at its existence before. He was only the heir  _presumptive_ , after all. Should his uncle have a son, Ben Solo's right to his inheritance would evaporate in a minute. A natural son was cause for little worry—short of the king legitimizing him, which he would never do under Snoke's influence. No, his concern seemed to run deeper than that. Lord Skywalker was nearing sixty, but he was not dead. There was still a possibility he could marry and produce an heir. 

Rey brushed the revelation aside. Perhaps it explained his behavior in some measure, but it did not excuse it. He was already heir to Admiral Solo's and Lady Leia's considerable combined fortunes. What need did he have of more? The answer was obvious: it wasn't about the money; it was the title, the family legacy. He thought he had a right to it; he was jealous of it. 

Rey realized with a start, too late, that she'd been studying his face rather longer and more intently than was altogether becoming, and that he was still studying her as well. She flushed a little, hoping the hostility radiating between them was less apparent to the rest of the room than it was to her. 

All at once, he was holding his hands out to her; it was time to dance their way back up the set. Rey took a steadying breath and placed her hands in his, hoping this meant they would not be obliged to speak again for a while. 

How wrong she was. Instead, the insufferable man took advantage of their sudden proximity to duck his head closer to hers and murmur over the music, "Do you know the full extent of his fondness, I wonder?" 

Rey was startled into silence, looking up at him with her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. She could not fathom his meaning and was unsure how to reply until she did. His mouth was set in a firm line, and there was a storm brewing in his eyes. She did not understand why it mattered to him how much her guardian cared for her. 

The dance carried them away from each other, hands breaking apart as they wove between the other dancers in line, coming back together and breaking apart again immediately. Rey was grateful to be free of his scrutiny, even for a few moments. The breeze kicked up by her energetic movements was a cool relief to her heated cheeks, and she'd just about regained her composure when the full meaning of his words finally struck her. 

Did he really think— _s_ _urely not_! It was a ludicrous implication, but it was the only one that explained his pressing questions and his heated resentment. It had never occurred to her that there might be rumors about  _her_ circulating the country as well, and the idea that people would think such a thing of Lord Skywalker turned her stomach—that he would take in a ward nearly forty years his junior and raise her only to—to  _marry_  her? 

When they came back together at the top of the set, Lord Solo bowed, loose locks of black hair falling over his forehead, and Rey dipped into a stiff little curtsy. When they straightened, her cheeks were flushed again, eyes blazing with righteous indignation. "Your assumptions do you a discredit, Lord Solo," she said, and though the words were quiet, they were fierce. "I am like a daughter to your uncle, something you would know if you were welcome in his house." 

His eyes flashed at that, and Rey glimpsed something dangerous in them for the first time, a hint of the man who'd shot two people to death. No doubt it was the look they'd seen when he'd issued the challenge, and perhaps if she were a man that would be precisely what he'd be doing at the moment. 

_If I were a man_ , Rey thought, gritting her teeth,  _I'd challenge him myself._  

As it was, she was very much  _not_ a man, and so was reduced to silent glares and veiled verbal insults. It would have to be enough, but she wondered if she'd gone too far, considering she still was obliged to dance one more with him. She could scarcely contain her fury, chest heaving with it, and Lord Solo looked like he was doing no better, eyeing her up and down as a muscle jumped in his jaw. 

It wasn't until she ripped her eyes away from him that Rey remembered they had an audience. They'd been conversing too quietly for anyone to overhear them, but no doubt their body language spoke loudly enough. She'd hoped no one would be paying them much attention, but a quick scan of the crowd for a familiar face revealed an uncomfortably large number of eyes darting away from her as she caught them watching. Jessika and Lady Leia were nowhere to be found, obscured from her view by the press of people. 

Rey took a deep breath, leaning down to adjust her skirts as a pretense to hide her face as she schooled her countenance back into tranquility, or the closest approximation to it that could be managed at the moment. She chanced a sidelong glance at Lord Solo and was surprised to catch him doing much the same thing—his air of polished elegance dropped for a moment as he tugged at his waistcoat and lifted a hand to brush his hair away from his face. Rey could not help feeling a little smug that she'd managed to discomfit him. The power balance had been entirely tipped in his favor until this moment, and she'd managed to shatter the veneer of his self-assurance with one sentence—a rebuke that'd also been meant to wound, and it seemed the blow had landed as intended. 

It was nearly time for the next dance to start. Rey drew herself up to her fullest height, lifting her chin, and the two of them eyed each other like wary animals circling before an attack, searching for any sign of weakness. Lord Solo squared his shoulders and held a hand out to her. There was an imperious arch to his brow, like he was daring her to defy the dictates of propriety. And for a fleeting moment, she left his hand unclaimed in the space between them, considering it. 

She could turn and walk away. She  _could_. It was entirely within her power. It would be the talk of Bath for the next fortnight, but she could hardly do further damage to his family than he had already done himself. Lady Leia would understand; Leia, who knew her son better than anyone. He was not a good man. 

Rey shifted, prepared to spin on her heel and walk away from him, but then she made the mistake of raising her gaze from his hand to his eyes, and he  _wanted_ her to storm away from him—she could see it written all over his expressive face. Well—that was the quickest way to root her to the spot, and she found the will to place her hand in his from some vast well of spite buried deep inside her. 

And—revolting as the action was to her—it was  _almost_  worth it for the surprise that flashed across his face before he could hide it. Rey's lips curled up in grim satisfaction, arching an eyebrow back at him. It was almost a game, one she was determined to win.           

Dancing did not dictate that they needed to speak, however, and Rey kept her lips pressed together. She'd gotten the last word in, and wasn't about to damage that by renewing the conversation. If he wished to speak, let him do it, and then she would decide whether she'd answer or not. 

Angry silence stretched between them, and their dancing became almost aggressive. Rey was certain she'd never leapt so high nor ground her heels so sharply into the floor nor seized a partner's hand so bone-crushingly. She held his gaze as often as she could, when the dance allowed for their heads to be turned towards each other, pouring every last bit of contempt she felt into her eyes. His expression was more difficult to decipher, jaw still clenched tightly but something else lingering on his face, something that looked oddly like fascination. 

Rey frowned. Her scorn should be wounding his pride, her anger repelling him, but it seemed to be doing the opposite. He would not take his eyes off her. 

When they reached the bottom of the set and were obliged to stand still yet again, Rey huffed out a frustrated breath, easy enough to disguise as the after-effect of vigorous dancing. She reached up to adjust her gloves, just to give herself something to occupy her hands. Lord Solo's eyes tracked the motion shamelessly. Something about his gaze on her was unsettling—it filled her with a nervous energy, shooting something hot and unfamiliar through her veins, pulling heat back up to her cheeks. She never wanted to look at him again. 

"Your grandfather was a baron, was he not?" Lord Solo asked suddenly, an odd choice of topic for several reasons, not least among them the abrupt manner with which their previous attempt at conversation had ended. Rey eyed him askance, wary of the direction this line of questioning was tending towards. Lord Solo was feigning ignorance—he knew as well as she that their grandfathers had once been the best of friends, like brothers, really—and she could not fathom why he would do such a thing. Were he anyone else, she'd credit it as an attempt at harmless small talk, but the handful of hours she'd known him were enough to teach her that this particular man was not capable of such a thing. 

Still, it could not hurt to confirm something that was public knowledge. "He was," Rey said. "But I fear the title died with him, as I was my father's only child." 

His dark eyes studied her for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching up into that barely-there smile again. "I detect little regret in your tone." 

Rey's eyes widened, taken aback by his perceptiveness, so at odds with his earlier presumptive blunder. "I care nothing for titles." 

He looked mystified. "Titles are a family's only legacy." 

A little laugh slipped out of Rey at that. Lord Solo stiffened; she could not tell if he was offended or merely startled that something he'd said made her laugh. 

"I heartily reject that notion," Rey said. "My grandfather's legacy was courage and kindness, and if I can carry that on in any small way, it is all the legacy I need." 

His eyebrows drew together, and he regarded her for a moment as though she were a particularly complicated knot he could not untangle. "But surely," he said, eyes flickering over her face, "you wish it was still yours to pass on to your children? Even if you do not mind the loss, perhaps they will." 

The question could have been a barb, intended to wound, but despite her distaste for the man, Rey could not deny there was not an ounce of venom in it—only curiosity. She decided to be frank with him—though he did not deserve it. "I see no use in wishing something back I always knew would be lost to me. It never belonged to me in the first place; it was some useless intangible thing of my grandfather's. It did not bring him happiness or add years to his life." She left unspoken the schism that had divided their grandfathers before Lord Anakin Skywalker's death, the fact that a title meant even less when there was no longer any fortune or property to go with it. It was vulgar to speak of such things in public. Still, she could not help adding, "We are not all so fortunate to have a special remainder preserving our family legacy." 

"Fortunate!" he exclaimed on an exhaled breath that was too bitter to be a laugh. 

Now it was Rey's turn to study him in bewilderment. She did not understand what he had to be bitter about, when the special remainder was the only thing giving him a right to the Skywalker earldom and fortune. Or perhaps that was the very reason he was bitter—ungrateful and nonsensical though it was. Did he wish he had been Luke Skywalker's son instead of Lady Leia's? Did he wish his mother had married a social equal so he would have inherited a title in the customary way? Such wishing seemed so pointless to Rey. At a loss to comprehend it, she could only attribute it to his ridiculous pride. 

"Perhaps I could consider myself fortunate, Miss Kenobi," he said, frowning, "had it come to me in a different way." 

Rey tilted her head, a little stab of doubt lancing its way through her exasperation. Could it be that he was obliquely referencing the death of his cousin some twenty years earlier? But surely not—Lord Solo was so careless of his living family; why would he have any sensitivity about a cousin whose death had made his inheritance possible? No, she decided, brushing her doubts aside. It was the unconventional manner of his inheritance that bothered him. "Perhaps you could consider yourself fortunate for other reasons," she said sharply,  "such as the fact that you had a mother as a child, that your father did not die and leave you alone in a foreign country, that your grandfather did not spend the last years of his life in reduced circumstances. Perhaps you could consider yourself fortunate that you can live independently, and that you can do so without so much as speaking to your family, who is still _very much_ alive." Rey snapped her mouth shut, chest heaving again. She had not meant to say so much, nor draw her own history into it, but it was impossible not to compare herself to him when he possessed and took for granted every last thing she had ever wanted. 

She'd shamed him into silence again, it seemed, or perhaps he was just stunned at the outburst. His eyes flickered over her face like he was searching for something in particular, and his throat bobbed before he spoke again. "Did you know they named me after him?" 

Rey blinked, thrown off balance once more by his tendency to change tack abruptly. 

"Your grandfather." His tone was soft, almost gentle. 

Rey looked down, wiping at a non-existent speck on one of her gloves as she contemplated her answer. It was yet another strange question on his part—how could she not know?—and she could not help feeling wary, like it was a trap. What sort of a trap it could possibly be, she had no idea. She only knew that she did not trust his intentions the least bit. 

"Yes," she said finally, looking up at him again. Her gaze was accusatory, saying what her mouth could not. _You are not worthy of it_. 

Lord Solo did not flinch, only regarded her gravely. "He was a good man." 

Rey huffed out a laugh again, shaking her head a little. 

"Have I said something amusing, Miss Kenobi?" 

"It is only...you are perhaps the least qualified person to reflect upon what makes a man good." 

Lord Solo straightened, throwing his head back a little with a haughty gesture that only further confirmed Rey's words. "And this is your opinion of me, then, after an acquaintance of two hours?" he said coldly. 

"On the contrary, my opinion of you was already formed long before I met you. Making your acquaintance has merely confirmed it."  

It was as though a shade had fallen all at once over his expressive face, and Rey could not identify a single emotion there. "Would that I could say the same," he murmured, more to himself than to her. 

Rey did not know what to make of that, nor to make of anything he said, really. She was prepared to take offense at every word that left his mouth, and surely it was not good for her health to be in a state of high dudgeon for such an extended period of time. "Come, Lord Solo, we clearly have nothing pleasant to say to each other. We can dance in silence just as well, don't you think?" 

"As you wish," he said stiffly, and Rey turned to watch the other couples dancing until it was their turn once more. 

She could not deny they were well-paired in the dance, if nothing else. There was something in the energy with which he moved that heightened her own movements, almost anticipatory in the way he reached for her just as each step registered in her head, like he was inside her mind, like they were a single moving body in two parts. Much as she hated to admit it to herself, she had never danced so well with anyone. 

The few times Rey risked a glance at his face, Lord Solo did not seem to discern anything remarkable in their dancing, the same morose look on his face that seemed to be his natural expression. Perhaps he danced like this with everyone, when he took the trouble of dancing at all. Rey kept her own expression stony and tried not to focus on the strange nervous energy still sparking through her veins as they moved. 

The dance came to an end without either of them speaking a word to the other. Rey sank into a small curtsy as he gave her a stiff bow, then it was as if neither of them could part ways quickly enough. 

Heat rose into Rey's cheeks again as she made her way through the crowd, sudden awareness crashing down on her once more of the sheer number of eyes upon her. She pressed a hand to her aching side, breathing a sigh of relief when she felt Jessika's comforting arm loop through hers. 

"You look like you've been through an ordeal by fire," she whispered. "Was it really so terrible?" 

Rey breathed out something that could have been either a laugh or a sigh; even she was not certain. "You've no idea." 

Lady Leia took one look at her and asked quietly, "Do you want to go home?" 

Rey could have thrown her arms around her in gratitude. Instead, she just smiled and answered in the affirmative, with perhaps more vehemence than was wise. 

Jessika took her leave of them, patting her hand and proposing a walk in the park the next day as they parted. 

Rey shared a long glance with Lady Leia as they headed for the cloakroom to fetch their wraps, silent understanding passing between them. Relief flooded through Rey just from stepping foot outside the room, but she was still in the doorway when something inexplicable compelled her to glance over her shoulder. Lord Solo was engaged in conversation with one of his friends, but his gaze was aimed over the man's shoulder—straight at her. Their eyes met across the room once more for half a heartbeat, something entirely unreadable in his, and Rey snapped her head back around as a strange shiver went down her spine. 

She could not leave the Assembly Rooms quickly enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fun(?) historical notes:
> 
> [Country dancing](http://www.kickery.com/2009/11/what-did-jane-austen-dance.html) was quite different than how it's portrayed in all the Jane Austen movies (I know, take a moment to gasp and clutch your heart and recover from your disappointment. I know I had to.) It was difficult for me to write too, because Jane didn't include much description of the actual dancing in her books (obviously, since her contemporaries would have been very familiar with it and probably bored to death over details we'd find fascinating now). And even modern reenactments don't quite do it justice.
> 
> Basically how it differs:  
> It was far more energetic/bouncy, with very little of the walking/gliding around we see in the movies.  
> The music and the steps were completely unrelated to each other. You could dance the same steps to any number of different songs.  
> They almost always danced to contemporary songs (so Lizzie and Darcy dancing to Mr. Beveridge's Maggot in the P&P miniseries is almost as ridiculous as you trying to grind in the club to music from the early 1900s).  
> There was A LOT of standing around, giving plenty of time to engage in witty repartee. The more couples, the more time you spent standing around waiting for your turn.  
> As I noted last chapter, if there were a lot of couples in the set, a single dance could easily take 45 minutes, and it was customary to dance a pair of dances with the same person.
> 
> The [special remainder](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hereditary_peer#Special_remainder) which allows Ben to inherit is the only thing that can get around the customary "male heirs of the body" inheritance rule. (In the Skywalkers' case there is no distant cousin in the male line a la Matthew Crawley in Downton Abbey, just Ben.) There's one historical case of a barony going straight to a nephew and his male heirs, so that's what I'm basing this on. It was a pretty unusual thing, so it stands to reason he'd be a little sensitive about it.
> 
> Lest you think Ben is being ridiculous/gross by thinking Luke would marry Rey (I mean he IS, but), a similar thing actually happens in Bleak House by Charles Dickens (they only get so far as an engagement, but it's still a big part of the book).
> 
> The total chapter count is just a rough estimate right now, but I wanted to give you some idea of how far we are into the story :)


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